8.30am, Florianopolis Brazil
Sitting on the front step of the white beach hut bar, having done my yoga and had my morning dip in the ocean.
The beach bar is not open at this time of day of course.
Sun again after a few rainy days, the beach littered with debris washed into the sea and then re-deposited on the shoreline.
Walkers and runners, bikinis and swim shorts.
The sea chopped up with warm wind from the north and the waves breaking rhythmically onto the shore.
A two-masted schooner passes, under power from its engine. A lone white heron struts his stuff in the shallows.
Beach dogs barking at a running man. He stops and so do they.
The beach dogs roam the sand, occasionally barking and play fighting, then attach themselves to two women walking along the beach in bikini tops and shorts, and walk along behind them, playing at belonging to a family, for a while.
The Continent is a hazy green silhouette of tree covered mountains, fading to the distant horizon in diminishing shades of blue.
No comments:
Post a Comment